


His Greatest Chance

by Zinfandel



Series: Waiting For You [14]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Internal Monologue, Introspection, Meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:13:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4872889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zinfandel/pseuds/Zinfandel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some mental breakdown work done for Jack regarding his take on belief, before and after becoming a guardian and how he has dealt with his reasoning and greed versus theirs. Admittedly this is pretty choppy and disjointed, but for the sake of posting all relevant writing it is here for your perusal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Greatest Chance

**Author's Note:**

> yo, this is really like...not my best writing at all, coming back to read it after months/years it was hard for me to even decipher, so don't feel bad if you get lost, i lost myself!

This was his greatest chance. His only chance. If he didn’t take it it could be centuries until something else could appear. Hell, it HAD been centuries for this one to appear.

Jack took it. Little else ran through his mind that morning after easter. Adrenaline coursed through him, joy, hope, and wonder. Those kids who were just a group of many before became his soul. Lit up his life, put a fire back in his heart the likes of which he hadn’t felt since his rebirth.

Everything hit so hard that easter. Duty, betrayal, memories.

Jack considered himself well rounded, strong. How easily it was shattered. How a mere golden box almost ruined everything. He was familiar with destruction though. It couldn’t stop him, didn’t. He hadn’t allowed it to. The stakes ran so high and fell so far and yet he came back.

He had always come back.

He wouldn’t have spent three-hundred years of life without making a habit of coming back. Just like clockwork, just like winter, without fail always returning.

From that first night he could consider his immortality a downward spiral of weak returns. But him? No, he was stronger than his circumstances. How many humans never saw him, how many spirits ignored him, how many animals ran from him, how much disappointment had he faced. Jack could tell those stories for literal weeks. He remembered everything vividly. The feeling of being intangible, how a child pulled your breath from your body as they skipped through your core, unawares. They were not what made him.

He was winter, ice, and cold. He embodied fun. Fun, for christ’s sake! Your center doesn’t become fun from three-hundred odd years of neglect. No. He MADE it his center. Jack always came back.

And just like winter, he refused to be stopped.

He forced a purpose where he had none, he ran with his gut instincts, and they were FUN.

Christmas was made to put a bright point amid bleak, dark winters. Jack was made to lighten the daily load, to take the edge off of the bitterness, to brush away the gloom, at least for a moment. He was made to keep trying and never give up, to  take that moment from the tedium to enjoy the now, the odd snowball in the face, the giggle as you scramble to catch yourself on a slick sidewalk.

And now he knew it.

Ok, so he knew it before. He just could never name it. The courage he had to keep trying, the recklessness to do it again. It was all fun. He had never thought too hard about the reasons. The things he did, the snowballs he made, the sled tracks he crafted, the snowdays he sprung, they were as much for himself as they were for the kids.

Long ago he had decided that if he couldn’t interact directly he wouldn’t let it bring him down. Interaction didn’t need to happen face to face, he didn’t need to be seen. Belief wasn’t his domain, he was not a guardian, he was better. He was selfless and true. He brought smiles and happiness in the harshest of seasons. He Saved where he could and righted wrongs he found.

He created happiness from thin air. His magic was the purest kind. No dreams like forced medicine, no hope disguised inside chocolate eggs, He didn’t need wonder if it came from materialistic plastic junk. Memories weren’t only stored in teeth.

Yeah, he had run-ins with the guardians before that easter, and all of the brief meetings were nothing to shake a stick at. The Guardians were so obsessed with believers they lost track. They ignored what they lived for, holed away in their magic castles. They plied impressionable kids with toys, candy, and money for their own sake. Jack concluded they were greedy and daft. He would be better than them.

His magic was free, he didn’t need toys to bring happiness, all he needed was a chill day and high humidity.

But that was before.

Now?

Well, now, he wasn’t quite sure. Now, he was a guardian too. Now he had believers. Now he felt the surge in being only a believer could induce. It was heady and scary all at once. This was what he had been missing out on.

This is what he spent the better half of his life convincing himself he did not need.

He would kill to keep it. He understood.

He saw the Guardians in a new light. Maybe not a better one. Jack saw what happened when they lost, he saw how they were when they win. He sees their goodness, and their folly. They change with him, their good nature is dizzying. Tooth is doing rounds, Bunny is bounding across the entirety of spring, North visits the malls and sits with children every other day, and they all meet up every two weeks to become close. Because of Jack.

He saw in their eyes their regret, their sorrow and apologies for the wrongs they did him. He was stronger than that. He watched as Bunny warmed up to him, how Tooth and her fairies near idolized him, how North wanted to coddle and keep him, how Sandy paid attention. He observed and accepted and nearly basked in the attention until it was too much.

Easter and the fallout was a flurry of affection the likes of which Jack had never known. All of the Guardians stayed at the pole for an entire month. They all crowded Jack with thanks and appreciation. Tried to teach him history and lore. Wanted to listen as he spoke. Food and drink were almost shoved down his throat. Really, it was great. It was overwhelming. He could take it, he was strong.

But duties had to be returned to and next year had to be planned and things trickled back to the way they were mostly, but now with the added bonus of a winter sprite who didn’t know what to do with himself.

He was still the same. Jack was still Jack and his brand of ‘bribery’ was still the best, in his mind. He saw their good intentions and faulted them for their neglect. He would do better. He always had, because he was strong.

He would make the entire world believe in him! Even the warm climates. And he did his rounds of the earth stopping in every place he knew of and then some and explored and played and brought fun.

And then he found Pitch Black.

And then they fought.

And then...they became friends.

And now, Jack was lost.

He saw and understood. He watched and learned and observed and found similarities. They were so alike. If Jack had ever once tasted the sensation of belief before Easter, he knew he would be the same. He would kill to keep it.

The Guardians would kill to keep it (nearly had), and Pitch Black would kill to get it back.

Belief.

It was a power struggle over a scarce commodity of indefinite source. Everyone in the world could believe, and the strength of their belief was infinite, But not many did. Scarce. Valuable. Worth everything and nothing. And Jack would kill for it. He was strong.

Was.

Was strong.

His strength is as transparent as he still is. Not many kids believe in him. He convinced himself it was fine, more would come. More did come. He was ok with what he had.

He watched as Pitch struggled for his own. As they fought Nightmares did their duties. As they fought, Pitch infected dreams by his mere presence. If Jack maybe let slip a few times to the kids who saw him that the boogeyman was real, who's to say?

No one should go without at least some belief. Pitch and he were similar. He didn’t pity him, he understood. No sadness lay between their relationship, only anger, fear, and fun. He understood and helped a little. Belief brought strength and Pitch needed it to keep up. Jack needed it for Pitch to stay a worthy adversary.

All his existence his purpose was bringing fun. He would survive on the smiles of the children who couldn’t see him because smiles were evidence he was there. Laughter was his language and when kids laughed with him he could pretend  they were conversing.

He wasn’t strong.

He was just as pathetic and greedy as the Guardians all along. He hid his despair under distractions just like the humans did. He did nothing for himself because it hurt to much to be reminded that he was alone.

Things were different now.

He took the chance and found himself not alone. He took the chance and became visible and worthy. Now the smiles came easily. Now he had time and space in his mind for other things than just a smothering constant hum of distraction.

Now he thought of himself, and of Pitch, and his purpose.

 


End file.
